


For Want of the Woman

by SchrodingersKat



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Anachronistic, Are the Shades of Pemberley to be Thus Polluted?, F/M, Gen, Humor, Jeeves is Mr Darcy's Manservant, Parody, This Story says Apparently Yes!, understated romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15663741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SchrodingersKat/pseuds/SchrodingersKat
Summary: "Miss Elizabeth Bennet has refused me. I’d never imagined this outcome; it was entirely outside my realm of experience. Therefore, upon entering my temporary quarters, I summoned the single remaining faculty at my disposal that could possibly save the situation."I summoned Jeeves."(In which Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, with the help of his brilliantly capable manservant, attempts to clear his good name, tackle obstacles such as lovelorn mooncalves, perspicacious aunts, a kidnapping helmet thief, and an unexpected duckpond, and finally win the girl in the end.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quotes bolded and italicized from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Characters, places and situations from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and P. G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves novels and works. None belong to me. Told in first person from the point of view of Mr Darcy from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.

“… _**Y**_ _ **ou were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”**_

Oh, how the words stung me. I strode back towards Rosings Park, the cruel pain from Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s succinct refusal gradually giving way to the numbing haze of supreme bewilderment. I’d never imagined this outcome; it was entirely outside my realm of experience. Therefore, upon entering my temporary quarters, I summoned the single remaining faculty at my disposal that could possibly save the situation.

I summoned Jeeves.

“Jeeves,” I addressed the owner of the handle, “I have need of your assistance.”

“Indeed, sir?” inquired the imperturbable individual.

“This is no time for ‘Indeed, sir’,” I explained, exasperated. “I’m at my wits’ end. Jeeves, Miss Bennet has refused me.”

“Is that so, sir?”

I stared at the man. You would have thought from his behaviour that this piece of information was as trivial and expected as that announcing that the weather was fine (It was), or that Mr Hurst wished to play cards after dinner (He generally did). It was not to be borne.

“It is so, Jeeves! And it ought not to be so! Have you ever heard of a young woman refusing an offer of marriage to me before?”

“No, sir,” Jeeves replied, moving to open the drapes. The way he pursed his lips while doing so somehow seemed intentionally to remind me that no young woman ever had an offer of marriage to refuse me prior to this day. How Jeeves managed to indicate this by the deliberate placing of the L is beyond me, but there it was. I somehow found it within my forbearing heart to overlook it.

“Jeeves,” I began, finding it necessary to front my request with a few precursors. “Is it not true that your forefathers have been in service to my own since time immemorial?”

“I should perhaps not employ the phrase ‘time immemorial’, sir, but certainly this has been the case for these two centuries at the minimum,” Jeeves agreed, of a sort.

“And in order for this prime institution to continue in the same vein, there must needs exist a Mrs Darcy. Am I wrong, Jeeves?”

“That would certainly seem to be the case, sir.”

“Therefore, to preserve the order of the Pemberly, nay, I should say the British way of life, you must – I stress the word _must_ , Jeeves – assist me in persuading Miss Bennet to become my wife. No other woman will do, Jeeves. I am absolutely convinced of this.”

“I think I understand the situation, sir.”

“Very good, Jeeves. What would you advise?”

“I shall have to give this matter some thought, sir. In the meantime, I think it would be well to write a letter to the young lady.”

“A letter, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir. From what I gather, Miss Bennet may be somewhat misinformed regarding certain situations pertinent to your suit. I think a letter, well thought out and very clear on all misrepresented issues, would be especially suitable for a young lady of Miss Bennet’s temperament.”

“There is something in what you say, Jeeves. Especially in regards to that blasted scoundrel, Wickham. I shall get on with it at once.” I rolled up the sleeves and reached for the old quill and ink. Unfortunately, they left quite a blot on Aunt Catherine’s third-best writing desk when my hand was stalled by a sudden revelation.

“Jeeves,” I called.

“Yes, sir?”

“How exactly are you so well acquainted with the content of my past conversation with Miss Bennet?”

“An assistant maid in Mrs Collins’ employ who happened to overhear it divulged some of the details, sir. She is a niece of mine.”

“Is that so?” I stroked the quill thoughtfully, brows bent on the noble visage. “No chance of the details being shared beyond the family, is there, Jeeves?”

“I should think not, sir,” Jeeves pronounced, drawing himself up with a quirk of an affronted eyebrow.

“I didn’t suspect it for a minute, Jeeves,” I proclaimed, once again setting myself to the task of marking up the old parchment.

I was speaking the truth. It had been less than a minute.


	2. Chapter 2

“ ‘And thus,’ ” I muttered as I scribbled the closing comments to my masterpiece, “ ‘You can clearly see how I should provide for you without the least trouble or inconvenience to yourself, and how any disapprobations you may have held towards my past behaviour were undeniably unfounded. I look forward to receiving a favourable response from your honoured hand in the near future. Sincerely yours, etcetera.’ ” I signed then sighed, clasping my weary hands behind a supremely stiff neck. “I think that should about do it. Jeeves, do you mind casting an eye over this?”

Said man shimmered over at once. After placing a tray bearing a small decanter of something or other at my elbow, he carefully picked up and perused the fruits of my three hours’ labour. I helped myself to a small sip, observing as I did so the raising and lowering of the eyebrows as he read silently through all eleven pages.

“Not at all a bad attempt, if I may say so, sir,” he intoned. Good egg. He knows a spot of good composition when he sees one. “For the first draft of a rough outline,” he finished. “The penmanship leaves something to be desired, however.”

I nearly spat out my drink. “First draft? Rough outline? Jeeves, it is a veritable work of Shakespeare! She cannot fail to be moved.” I frowned at him, internally daring him to remark otherwise.

“Perhaps so, sir, but in cases such as these, it is hardly wise to dwell entirely on your superiourity to all other males of her acquaintance, with any spare comments placing Mr Wickham’s position at the opposite end of the spectrum. I rather think it would be in your best interest to specifically address her allegations against your behaviour to herself and to her sister.”

“Ah, you mean Miss Jane Bennet? I recall her mentioning something of that now.” Funny how natural it is to forget her without Bingley rhapsodizing about her every five minutes. “Well, that problem is easily remedied. I see space for a postscript here.” I flourished the pen, eager to vanquish this obstacle with a quick one-two and then off to the parsonage with it, but I was stayed by Jeeves’ hand.

“If you permit my saying so, sir, I should not recommend it.”

I rolled a bewildered and beleaguered eye at the solemn statue. “You don’t recommend it, Jeeves? I do not follow you. I very clearly remember you saying not two minutes past that I _should_ clear up the little matter re: Miss Jane Bennet and that hare-brained plague of a friend of mine, Bingley.”

“Indeed I did, sir. However, I believe that this matter requires considerable delicacy. I should think casting a light of benevolent friendship towards both parties on your intentions would prove most efficacious. After all, neither of the Miss Bennets have observed Mr Bingley’s interactions with the fairer sex outside Hertfordshire.”

I understood immediately. “You mean to say that they have no idea what a great moon-eyed sap the poor fellow is, and that no man has ever lived who was more apt to melt into a veritable puddle before a pretty face. And that my telling Miss Elizabeth Bennet so might not immediately clue her in without any prior observation of the said melting Bingley. Is that right, Jeeves?” I asked, despairing realization sinking in.

“I’m afraid that is most likely the case, sir.” His eye had a definite sympathetic sheen to it. Of course, it may have been merely a mirage caused by the refraction of light through the crystal decanter. Its contents seemed to possess the ability to cast a kindly glow. I took another swallow of them as I racked the brains for a way out of this dilemma. I soon arrived at the inevitable. “I guess a rewrite will be in order then, Jeeves. Any other thoughts before I get down to it?”

Jeeves hesitated, straightening the tray and decanter. I assumed it was due to the dearth of material deserving of criticism. As I mentioned previously, it was truly a superbly crafted letter, capable of winning any rational woman’s heart. It would have won mine, anyhow.

Jeeves finally spoke. “It is regarding the matter of Mr Wickham’s past and yours, sir. If I recall correctly, in your letter you touch upon a matter you agreed to hold in secrecy.”

“Ah, you refer to Wickham’s exploits at Oxford? True enough, in the heat of the moment my natural reticence seems to have relapsed somewhat. I shall have to correct that part. But what _should_ I say, Jeeves? I think a man who’s tangled with the constabulary for the Misdemeanor Which I Shall Not Here Mention is hardly fit for a respectable career in the law or the clergy, much less to be husband to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I wish for her to know it also.”

“Perhaps if you refer to the matter in a concise yet abstract way, without betraying your confidence, but so that she may comprehend that you are desirous of her safety from roguish companions,” suggested Jeeves carefully.

So this was how it was going to be? I heaved a slow sigh of despondency, steeling my soul for a sleepless night. “Er, how should I put it, then? ‘ _ **I knew that Mr Wickham ought not to be a clergyman.’**_ Is that discreet enough, Jeeves?

Jeeves was silent for a moment and a half. He seemed to be wrestling internally with some adversary, but soon his powers of speech regained the upper hand. “… I think it is an adequate start, sir.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was with a weary heart and fatigued countenance that I hoisted myself from the writing desk the next morning. It had been some time since I had last been compelled to churn out such a quantity of hieroglyphics – not since my residence at Oxford, in fact. The occasion might have coincided with my last all-nighter, as well. I experienced the same trepidation as I splashed perfunctory water on the drawn face before sauntering forth to my doom. This time, however, I was not aiming to please a crusty old professor complete with beard to be stroked and glared over at quivering students’ essays. No, my audience was much more enigmatic in their expectations, with a face unreadable even to such a discerning eye as mine, despite the obvious lack of cover provided by beards.

Such heavy thoughts dogged my footsteps as I meandered over to the woods on the edge of Rosings Park. I rubbed my bleary eyes as I waited with my finished letter in hand, wishing as I did so that the intended recipient would come. Every minute of delay added two new doubts in my mind. I was fairly certain that the penmanship would satisfy even the most fastidious of gouty profs, and that I’d tolerably countered the claims of officiousness in Bingley’s affairs. I just hoped I had been circumspect enough about Wickham in his business as well as Georgiana in hers. That was just why I disliked dredging up the past with those not in the know – dashed tricky to please everyone.

Most likely Jeeves would have advised patience, had he been present, and even included a line from one of the poets to lend credence to his counsel. I however, was far too tired to fish one up in his stead. I was on the brink of nodding off when I finally caught a glimpse of the girl in question. She looked reluctant to accept my missive, but not enough to outright refuse when I offered it with the utmost politeness. She disappeared immediately, holding my letter. That left me free to about face and march off to Rosings, where my bed and a cup of hot tea were calling my name with increasing insistence. I was more ready to heed them now that my task was finished. With the letter delivered to its reader, there was no use in recollecting any parts I had mangled or neglected. Well, there was little use in such a thing at all to begin with. We Darcys are pretty thorough in anything we set our minds to.

I stopped.

Of course I would remember _now_. Jeeves had told me specifically to explain my behaviour to herself as well as her elder sister – and I had meant to. I remembered including justification for my comments regarding her family’s comportment in my final draft – or was that draft seventeen? I could no longer remember – but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t recall ever explaining that I still respected her relatives despite their eccentric behaviour.

Maybe she’d forget those comments altogether. I certainly had until that moment. I forced myself to turn away rather than rush after her and demand to add an addendum. The only action left in the present circs was to wait and see.

Several weeks passed without a sight of each other’s company, and it appeared that Miss Bennet did indeed forget my past offences. Unfortunately, for all intents she must have forgotten my existence along with them. I distracted myself as best I could – I removed myself as far as possible from charming country assemblies and pretty families with five unattached daughters. Naturally, I stopped at London.

There were a myriad of engagements to attend to – dinners with Bingley and his family, lunches with former schoolfellows at the Don, my club in town, and various social gatherings in the evenings. Many young ladies seemed anxious to attend to me during those times, no doubt discerning my heart to be disappointed in love – most females of a certain age possess this talent, apparently – but Miss Bingley knew of my solitary disposition and regularly dispelled them. Unfortunately, she must have been unable to sense that my desire to avoid feminine society extended to herself – again, many young ladies share this inherent failing as well, from my experience.

After repeated experiences of this nature, I took to fencing with a former master after early dinners in my rooms as an alternative. I had finally managed to rediscover a sort of rhythm to my existence, and renewed my passion for the sport. As a matter of fact, I was on the precipice of beating my record from my heyday at Oxford, vowing myself to conquer it once and for all, when I received a certain post by messenger from Jeeves, whom I had left in charge at Pemberley during my sojourn at the capitol. For better or worse, the contents drove all thoughts of fencing scores out of my head for months to come.

  



	4. Chapter 4

“What ho, Jeeves!” I hallooed, dismounting and catching a peek of the aforementioned round a curve of the Pemberley shrubbery. “Must be something exceptional to have recalled me to the family fort a day earlier than planned. What exactly is afoot on the home turf? Fire? Foes?”

“Nothing of such a destructive nature, sir. I am sorry to have disrupted your plans, but I trust you will agree that it is better that I break the news to you prior to the arrival of your guests.” Jeeves paused, collecting my reins and riding jacket in his usual solicitous way. He took his time to thoroughly grip the former and smooth the latter, just as if he didn’t have me on tenterhooks with his foreboding words. He finally glanced up, took in my expression – which must have closer resembled the gaping of a drowning fish than not – and succumbed to pity. “You have had a rather distinguished visitor at Pemberley during your absence, sir,” he announced.

“Oh, I say – it’s not Aunt Catherine, is it?” I gulped. “I don’t fancy watching her lay into Bingley when he arrives tomorrow.”

Jeeves coughed gently. “No, her Ladyship is not visiting Pemberley. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is.”

Forget the gaping fish – my jaw met the old Darcy grounds like a great blue whale out trawling for plankton.

“Miss Eliz-Elizabeth Bennet, you say? Oh my giddy aunt.” I could let the exclamation slip with reasonable safety now that Jeeves had assured me the premises were aged female relative – free.

“Indeed, sir. I think you might be pleased to know that she appears to be somewhat more tolerant of you, from her responses to Mrs Reynolds during her tour of the estate,” Jeeves continued gravely.

“The housekeeper? She submits remarks on yours truly to the tourists?” I asked, justifiably confused.

A certain look I wasn’t quite able to identify entered Jeeves’ eye at the query. ‘Forbearing’ might be the word I’m fishing for – though perhaps ‘long-suffering’ fits the bill better. If it weren’t Jeeves I was discussing, I would employ the adjective ‘exasperated.’ “She occasionally sees fit to do so, sir. With the highest respect, of course,” he carefully intoned.

“Well that’s all well and proper, but when you say that Miss Bennet is here, do you mean that she is _here_ here? As in, at this very hour?” I prodded, snapping back to the pressing M.

“I took the liberty of assuring her that you were not presently at home, so I should expect that she is wandering the grounds even as we speak,” Jeeves informed me calmly.

“I suppose nothing could have been truer when you said it Jeeves, but –“ Here I broke off.

Have you ever considered the axiom, “Actions speak louder than words?” I had not previously, but within the next moment, I believe I arrived at a sort of epiphany. I could now see that this was only one of several occasions in which I was erroneously gadding about when good swift decisive movement was what was called for. Consider the Meryton assembly when I first came into Herfordshire. When encouraged by Bingley to dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I told him in no uncertain terms that whatever young ladies he pushed forward for my inspection would never tempt me. What did that get me? Apparently, only righteous loathing from Miss Bennet and a total lack of comprehension from the already ensnared oaf Bingley. What should I have done? Turned on my heel and marched toward the nearest exit, that’s what. Perhaps Bingley would have gotten the message then. Such an action could only be interpreted as a warning against the wiles of delightful families with five single daughters and an advisory to beat a hasty retreat from such formidable foes. Again, when asked by Miss Caroline Bingley to identify the object of my reverie during an unguarded moment, I answered honestly like a nincompoop of the same class as her grade – A brother. Again, how did such transparency repay me? With tireless teasing regarding “fine eyes” and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

The lesson is clear. It is when you act that you make an impression, while those who spend all day chewing the fat will live to rue it. Unfortunately, the realization had come for me too late. Here was I, nonchalantly discussing the whys and where-to-fors of Miss Bennet’s arrival, when the very girl discussed was rounding the path not ten yards from us, behatted head bobbing along straight towards our position!

However, our elevation and lack of restricting headgear afforded us a better outlook, and thus the other party was spotted before engaged in battle. There still might have been time to salvage our position. Only one hope remained. I grasped at it like a sinking man. “Jeeves,” I turned to him, desperation pleading in my gaze. “She is here! What should I do?”

Jeeves, a man of good heart and set on the path of true perfection, must have ultimately grasped upon the truth of actions versus words in very same moment as I. I can only assume such to be the case, for he granted me no verbal response, but instead raised his booted foot and sent me with a single firm push to the hindquarters into the duck pond.

Engulfing bonnet or no, Miss Bennet could hardly fail to hear the substantial splashes I made as I floundered out of the miry depths. I heard her startled exclamation, as well as the implied “Whatever are you doing floundering about in a duck pond like a drowned cat, Mr Darcy?” inherent in the laboured silence following. I brushed off a strand of seaweed – filing a mental note as I did so to ask Jeeves later what the blazes seaweed was doing in an inland duck pond – and glanced backwards to lay all blame with the responsible party. But however I strained the eyes, no Jeeves met my beleaguered stare. He must have shimmered away by then, complete with horse and discarded riding coat. I wished the horse could have shimmered away with his rider as well.

A repeated enquiry brought me back to myself. I tried to recollect the common way to speak to pretty members of one’s acquaintance who have refused one’s hand in marriage and then suddenly arrive at one’s duck pond just as one extricates oneself from said duck pond. I’m not at all sure I succeeded. I hoped to redeem myself somewhat for my lack of respect towards her family that I had forgotten to remedy in my letter by asking after her parents’ health. No matter how many times I began, I could never keep my wits in order long enough to ensure I had completed the solicitations. Driven to distraction and entirely routed, I at last beat a demoralized retreat to the house.

I marched straight up to my rooms and found Jeeves laying out a complete set of dress with a sanguine air. “Jeeves,” I demanded, “I will not ask you what you meant by your entirely uncalled-for action earlier, but I will ask what you expect me to do now.”

Jeeves pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I should advise wearing these drier articles of clothing, and then reengaging Miss Bennet in conversation before she runs from the premises frightened out of her wits, sir.”

There were many remarks I could have made on this solution – such as questioning the intention of causing said girl to have justifiable reason to run from the premises frightened out of her wits – but I opted to forgo them in order to carry out his suggestion. One thing that may be said of Jeeves, is that even if one does not always comprehend the method to his madness during the course of his schemes, he had not led me astray yet. That counted for something.

I hope I acquitted myself well enough during the half hour that followed - I hobnobbed with the aunt and uncle, tried to be agreeable and not comport myself like a fellow who enjoyed popping out of duck ponds before innocent young ladies as a sort of regular exercise. The old ticker had finally regained some stability by the time I wound my guest-free way back to the estate. As if through telepathy, I was met instantly with Jeeves carrying a slim bottle of restorer complete with glass and tray.

After a sip or two, I trusted myself enough to speak. “Well, Jeeves,” I opined, “that could have gone better.”

Jeeves merely raised the eyebrows. “Yes, sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

Soon after the dust settled (Figuratively and literally - dried duck pond mud, we discovered, is attracted to previously pristine surfaces even more than officious aunts to their innocent nephews’ businesses), I welcomed my guests and sister to Pemberley. Of course, Bingley and company professed gratefulness at the invitation and great anticipation at the future larks to be engaged in as an intimate party. Naturally, I heard very little of their prattle and instead concentrated on the quickest method of ditching the lot of them. It was regrettable, but I could not rest until I could pop off to the charming little country inn at Lambton, where Jeeves’ reliable sources placed Miss Bennet.

We Darcys have considerable powers of ingenuity, but rack the grey matter as I would, I couldn’t hit upon a method of accomplishing this without appearing abominably rude. Firmly convinced of the futility of further thought, I laid the problem in its entirety before Jeeves. As per the usual, he offered a suggestion at once.

“It may actually be advantageous to invite a member of your party to accompany you to Lambton, sir. If I were in your position, I should choose a moment when solely Miss Georgiana is available,” he mused, straightening some waistcoats and whatnot in the wardrobe.

“Is that so, Jeeves? Why Georgiana?” I asked listlessly.

“You requested to be allowed to present her to Miss Bennet yesterday as you were walking the grounds.”

“Did I?” I had no recollection of such a conversation. Though, looking back on the whole affair, I hardly knew what was said at all. I believed I may have spoken at some length about the quality of fishing in the area. I hoped I had not bored her.

“Yes, sir. And as she expressed such keen interest in the meeting, it would be well to fulfill your promise as soon as possible.”

“In that case, I suppose the inclusion of the dear sib should do no harm. The trick then is how to buttonhole her without alerting the rest of the attending train.” I tapped the upper lip while thrusting forward the lower.

“If I might suggest it, you might wish to leave at once. Mr and Mrs Hurst as well as Miss Bingley have retired to their rooms after tea, and if you set out within the quarter of the hour, you should arrive before Miss Bennet and her aunt and uncle leave to dine with another family in Lambton.”

“Right ho. I’m as braced as I ever shall be, so all that’s left is to collect the sister and miss the Bingley.” I received a proffered hat and walking stick, which I could not help but notice complemented the day’s outfit most exquisitely – Jeeves always was particular about that sort of thing – when a passing thought struck me. “Jeeves,” I asked, “How do you know what times Miss Bennet and company are to attend dinner parties?”

Jeeves coughed politely upon my doubt at the reach of his information. “My niece is in service at the inn where they reside, and is assigned to wait on their rooms, sir. They sometimes speak of their plans in her presence and ask for her recommendations as a native of the town.”

“Oh, that one, eh? The sister to that young whatsit, an undergardener about the place?”

“His Christian name is not ‘whatsit’, sir, however well the appellation may suit him. Nevertheless, that is indeed the niece to whom I refer. I am sorry sir, but I must remind you that if you wish to arrive at Lambton in time, you should make haste - ”

“Oh, you have a niece hereabouts, Jeeves? I say, that must be nice! I haven’t a niece at all! Neither have you, Darcy!” With a slap on the back and smile on his lips, that clueless fellow Bingley bumbled in. “And what’s all this, then? Are you planning an excursion to Lambton?”

With a panicked glance at Jeeves, I hastened to throw Bingley off the scent. “Oh, hardly, old thing. I was just about to toddle off with the dear sibling to pay a call there. Common courtesy, you know.”

“Oh, really? And to whom, pray tell?”

I shied away from Bingley’s angelic smile and threw another look to Jeeves, who merely avoided my gaze and pursed the lips. We were in consensus then: the jig was up. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” I mumbled, thoroughly defeated.

Rapture turned up the brilliance a few notches on the poor bounder’s face, forcing me to turn my head away with a grimace. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, you say! Why, what a coincidence! Whatever could she be doing here?” Bingley leaned forward like a dog for a bone with lots of the good bits still on.

“Apparently, she is touring Derbyshire with her aunt and uncle. Or so she told me,” I informed him.

“Ah, you have already spoken with her during her visit, then?” Bingley surmised.

“Well, yes. We happened to run into each other,” I admitted.

“When you were passing through Lambton on your way here from London?”

“Er, no, not quite.”

“Where, then?”

I coughed into my hand nervously. “At the duck pond, actually.”

“Oh.” A small cloud of confusion passed over the fellow’s countenance, but just as swiftly, it disappeared as if only imagined. “I didn’t know you had a duck pond, Darcy!”

“I do,” I answered him honestly.

“Oh,” he reiterated. A sudden thought struck him. “I say, Darcy! Why don’t I come with you and Georgiana to pay my respects to Miss Bennet?”

I threw in a last meager effort to salvage my plans, though I knew in my heart of hearts that it would be for naught. “There is no need to trouble yourself, Bingley. We can carry your wishes for you, and the visit is on such short notice that Miss Bennet will not feel slighted.”

“Nonsense! It would be no trouble at all to accompany you! I would not hear of staying behind! Just let me fetch my hat.” So saying, the blighter finally removed his presence from my personal rooms.

“Jeeves,” I began. But I could not find the words to end, so I simply stood there, looking helpless.

“Indeed sir. However, I should not be too concerned about the inclusion of Mr Bingley to the party. It may be of some small comfort to consider the alternative of his sister.” Jeeves left me with the image as he moved on to adjust the hanging of various dress shirts.

I only groaned at him as I departed to collect my own sister.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say thank you for reading this silly story, and for the kudos, and even comments (!!) - you have all been very kind, and it means so much to me. You're awesome.  
> (P.S. I happened to notice that reading this story on mobile splits the title into two separate lines. This makes me read it in my head as "For Want of the Wo[ah,] Man." I hope you also, if it happens to cross your mind, now mentally pronounce it in this new and improved fashion. You're welcome.)


	6. Chapter 6

A quarter of the hour later, our small party of three arrived at the inn at Lambton. We were shown in by a girl in whom I could discern a definite resemblance to that young gardening whatsit, though not a particular similarity to Jeeves – but then again, none of his professed family do possess one. No one seems to look quite as Jeeves does – perhaps they do not include enough fish in the diet.

It took some doing to stop Bingley in the hall before the rooms. He wished to spare no time in asking after her family – I could have told him that Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s “family” was as pretty and unengaged as when he had left her, but decided against it. Using my prior commitment to introduce Georgiana, I finally reined in the stamping young charger and proceeded into the fray with the sister solely as faithful friend-at-arms.

After the short required “May-I-be-allowed-to-presents,” I retreated a safe distance and observed the two hobnob about the usual things girls do. I had no interest in it, but I was pleased to conclude that they were getting on famously. Georgiana must have spoken twice as much as she usually did when among strangers – I believe I heard her pronounce six words together once – and she even laughed twice. Miss Bennet herself underwent a pleasing transformation; with Georgiana, she exhibited a maternal side which I had never witnessed her use even when in company with her younger sisters. It was altogether heartwarming. I could have remained content watching the pair converse across the room for an hour, had I not begun to notice small sly glances thrown my way by the elder, which engendered ill-suppressed nervous giggles from the younger. I soon decided that I did not like this. Quite coincidentally, it was about this time that I became moved by the long-suffering forbearance of the pacing Bingley just outside the door, and happened to release the catch.

It worked like a charm. Bingley came bounding in like a war horse fresh from the stables, and barely observing the necessary preliminaries, inquired with great solicitude after her family. Miss Bennet swiftly assured him that all crucial members of her family who should be single still persisted in that happy but transient state. Bingley’s racing pulse slowed visibly. Mine, however, was not so fortunate when that sharp young woman artlessly asked if the blighter had not seen her eldest sister at London some weeks ago. This would not do. I had come to impress Miss Bennet, not to have her reminded of parts of my past behaviour that displeased her. Obviously, if the musket would not serve, it was time to switch to the pistol. I turned to Georgiana, who had rejoined me at Bingley’s intrusion.

“How do you like Miss Bennet, Georgie?” I asked with honest feeling.

Any doubts I had fluttered away like butterflies from a breeze at the look of adoration on the girl’s face. “I like her very much! She is just as you always describe her!”

Always? “I have described Miss Bennet to you before, then?” I queried.

She tilted her face sideways in confusion, still staring up at me. “Why, yes, brother. Quite often.”

Funny, I couldn’t recollect that – much less doing it often. No matter – I had a mission in mind for the young sister, and since she seemed so agreeable to its spirit, I was determined to see it through. “In that case, Georgie, why don’t you invite her to Pemberley?”

She opened her mouth in a little “O.” “Should I really, brother?” she questioned, awestruck.

“Certainly, if you wish to see more of her. It is entirely within your rights, and very proper. I’m sure that Miss Bennet would enjoy to receive your invitation and wait on you some morning. However, you should only do so if you want to, Georgie,” I hastened to add.

“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed rapturously. She stood there, hands clasped beneath her beaming face, bouncing a little on her heels.

I waited.

She continued beaming and bouncing.

I coughed softly. “Perhaps you should run along and actually ask her then,” I suggested gently.

This precipitated a dampening of the beaming and bouncing. “Right now, brother?” Georgie clarified.

I considered the matter while listening to Bingley recall the exact date and location of his last meeting with those bewitching Bennet sisters. I could only imagine what Miss Bennet was thinking of me while hearing him pour out his blatantly lovesick heart, which apparently I had cruelly and wantonly separated from his true soulmate. I could not stand another minute of it. “Well, yes, Georgie, I think now would be a good time,” I admitted.

All was smooth sailing from thereon out. Future meetings were assured, leaves were taken, and besotted Bingleys were escorted out of the inn and back to Pemberley. I mulled over the afternoon’s work in the privacy of my own room after the day came to a close.

“Jeeves,” I said, “I think things may be looking up.”

Jeeves paused in his labor of turning down the sheets to answer me. “I am very glad to hear it, sir.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

For the next day or two, things went swimmingly. I shall not bore you with the piffling details here. We engaged in the usual social gatherings. There was tea set to the usual background strains of pianoforte supplied by the talented females of the company, with a harmony of light chatting also provided by the same able performers. Occasionally there was fishing as a slight change of pace, while the women saw us off with tolerable spirits and remained behind entertaining themselves. With what, I have no notion. Most likely more tea, pianoforte and even more chatting.

No doubt things would have continued in this vein for some time. Looking back on it now, perhaps it would have been preferable that it should have. I was happy with the way things were. Miss Bennet appeared to be happy also. Georgiana was happy, Bingley was happy, the Hursts certainly looked happy. I am not certain with regards to Miss Bingley – whenever I noticed her, she always was looking soulfully at some object nearby. I had observed during the course of our acquaintance that she had a proclivity of looking soulful. Dashed rummy, in my opinion, but then, one ought to make allowances for young ladies of certain ages, especially for fellows’ sisters.

As a matter of fact, Miss Bingley indirectly was the source of the sudden shift – though the term ‘incident,’ or even ‘catastrophe,’ might serve just as well – that was so soon to befall us all. It all began when I recalled some words she had dropped during our stay in Hertfordshire some months past. I remembered it clearly.

“The great point to keep in mind,” she had said, “is to never let them wilt.”

“Wilt?” I had asked. She had been gazing soulfully at a vase just past my left shoulder. I had thought perhaps someone had placed some flowers in them, and forgotten to change the water. I had hoped I was wrong. It had not looked like anyone laid hands on the vase since Bingley took possession of Netherfield.

Miss Bingley had nodded, still steadfastly staring at the vase. Thinking that my shoulder was obstructing her view of it, I had shifted to allow her a clearer line of sight. However, she had merely returned her eyes to the page she had been revising for the last half hour. “One’s relationships, I mean. Such things,” she continued, “require some variety in order to progress. On quite another matter, Mr Darcy, would you care to accompany me for a turn in the garden? This space feels most enclosed.”

I had thanked her politely and refused. She had obviously required some respite from the volume she had held for the previous two hours, while I had still needed to finish some letters. She had turned that soulful glance toward the vase once again, and then left. I had then completed the writing of my letters in peace, I recall, paying little attention to her words then. But somehow, I could not erase them from my head now.

Perhaps Miss Bingley was right. No matter how I enjoyed the pleasant days with my friends at Pemberley, I certainly did not wish for them to continue without end. I was began to wonder if perhaps they would, unless I took action. After some restless brooding one night, I brought up the problem with Jeeves the following morning.

He did not seem to think the matter worth the attention I was lavishing on it. “Sir,” he told me gravely, “Miss Bennet has only stopped at Lambton for two days.”

Really? I thought it had been much longer. “Nevertheless, Jeeves, I think it high time we made some progression on the engagement front. I don’t want things to grow stale.” I folded my arms beneath the bedclothes, frowning. I felt a sinking suspicion that wasn’t the exact wording I was looking for.

“Stale, sir?” Jeeves asked warily, looking askance at the toast he had just brought round with the cup of tea.

“You know, get in a rut and all that rot,” I elaborated.

“I now understand your meaning, sir. In that case, I think I may know just the recourse to turn to,” Jeeves said, releasing the repast from his reproving stare.

“You do, Jeeves?”

“I believe so, sir. It is not an unheard-of scheme, and a generally effective one.”

“Let’s hear it, then!”

“It is simply this: you ought to benefit or rescue someone dear to Miss Bennet in order to earn her gratitude, and with it, a kinder eye on your suit as well as your failings.”

I graciously dispensed with bringing up that bit regarding the so-called “failings,” instead bestowing my attention on the buttered toast with still-steaming tea. “That’s all well and good, Jeeves, but unless I am gravely mistaken, none of Miss Bennet’s assorted friends and relations are in need of rescuing or similar services. Am I wrong, Jeeves?”

“No, sir. However, I think that with some effort, the desirable results could be arranged while still avoiding the actual danger inherent in such actions in normal circumstances.”

“How, Jeeves?”

He explained.

It was a corker.

“Jeeves,” I told him, “I do believe you’ve done it again.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied as he gathered up the tea things. “I endeavor to meet expectations. However, such an undertaking will require some preparation, so it would be advisable for me to attend to the arrangements as soon as possible in order to be in readiness after the dinner party.”

“Quite right, Jeeves. I have a letter or two I ought to send off as well to help the process. I better hop to it, then.” So saying, I levered the body from beneath the covers.

“Will that be all, sir?” Jeeves questioned from the doorstep.

“Yes, thank you Jeeves. Oh, wait,” I amended as a particular point struck me. “Dinner party? What dinner party?”

“The dinner party Miss Georgiana is giving tomorrow afternoon, sir. All your guests as well as Miss Bennet and her aunt and uncle are to be in attendance. I had thought that our plan should commence directly at the closing of the event.”

“Ah, now I remember. That should work perfectly. Thank you, Jeeves,” I said for the second time, finally allowing him to exit stage left. It served as my cue to rummage the old writing desk for a bit of pen and ink. As I settled down to compose, I allowed myself some small feelings of anticipation for the dinner party and how I would become a changed man in Miss Bennet’s eyes. Tomorrow would transform our relationship forever.

Sometimes I cannot help but notice what a perspicacious fool I am.


	8. Chapter 8

Despite my hurried preparations, the next afternoon found me walking the countryside. You know how it is. When one is in grammar school and a maths examination looms on the horizon, one must buckle down and stick the nose to the g. several nights in advance. Stuffing one’s head the morning of is simply no good. It seems that winning a girl’s heart is similar in nature, but with significantly less known constants and no extra marks for writing one’s name on the upper corner. Regardless, a few hours before the eagerly awaited dinner party, I was left with little to do. I offered to assist my sister in the final arrangements, but was met with a more calculating look than normally observed on her face.

“Perhaps you would better enjoy a quiet stroll outdoors until it is time to change dress,” Georgiana suggested gently.

“Are you certain? There must be something in which I could assist you. I could help select the pattern for the napkins. Those look a likely sort,” I opined, observing an approaching maid bearing a cheerful bundle of bluish checquered affairs. The maid faltered, looking stricken.

Georgiana looked as though she was about to speak to me, then thought better of it and turned towards the maid. “You may continue collecting the dishcloths for cleaning,” she instructed. The maid scurried on, looking relieved. My sister redirected her attention towards me. “I am quite sure, dear brother. Please enjoy your walk.”

So it was that I strode away from Pemberley, my devoted sister waving me on my way as I departed. I had no particular direction in mind. It was with no slight surprise that I found myself a short while later closing in upon the borders of Lambton. As a matter of fact, if I strained my head just a little, I could gaze directly into the upper windows of an inn I had visited not long before. I did so, and just had time enough to note one of those windows closing quickly, followed by the emergence of a certain sister of a gardening-whatsit.

“Good afternoon, sir,” greeted Jeeves’ niece (one of many assorted). “Should I announce you to Mr and Mrs Gardiner and Miss Bennet?”

I considered the notion. “I should not like to intrude. Are they busy at present?”

A particular gleam entered her eyes, reminding me of a certain uncle of hers, as she answered my question. “Oh no sir, I believe Miss Bennet to be unengaged at the present moment. I expect she would be delighted to receive you.”

I harrumphed an approval. “Very well. Lead on, if you would,” smartly marching after her as she complied with alacrity. I attempted to form a likely reason for the unannounced visit, and decided upon a courteous reminder of the time of the dinner party. If it went as I imagined it would, they would assure me that they knew it, thus saving me from admitting that I was uncertain of the exact hour myself. It would thus also enable me to determine at which time I should turn back for Pemberley and avoid Georgiana’s censure for tardiness, a notion which had been worrying me for some time before arriving at Lambton. A rather efficient scheme, if I did think so myself; I imagine Jeeves would have approved, had it all proceeded according to plan.

It certainly did not. Upon my entry into the rooms taken by the Gardiners, I was met with no Gardiners but Miss Bennet’s distraught and tear-stricken face instead. I was taken aback, naturally. If this was the ubiquitous demeanor of young ladies delighted to receive suddenly announced guests, no one had bothered to inform me. A glance at Jeeve’s niece reassured me on that point; she was clearly as astonished as I.

The next few moments were a blur. Jeeve’s niece scurried away after Miss Bennet’s aunt and uncle while I attempted to suggest some means of relief for her distress. It was an even worse disaster than the dishtowels. I was just internally berating myself for insisting aloud that she looked “ _ **very ill**_ ” when I gathered that she was explaining her sad state. Apparently, she had just received a letter from her sister.

I recalled with some disgruntlement that my previous bungled tete-a-tete with the young lady also occurred after her perusing one of these sisterly missives. Clearly, some sort of connection must exist. If such letters always gummed up the works of fellows’ matrimonial prospects, some sort of action ought to be taken. At the very least, a five pound fine. Naturally, I would regret my decreased correspondence with Georgiana while we were apart, but I suppose one must make some sacrifices. As I was considering the practicality of such a system, her continued explanation of the situation finally penetrated my interior musings. When it did, my first impulse was to ignore it as nonsense, but I decided against my better judgment to make certain I understood her correctly.

She assured me that I had. Mr George Wickham was reported to have taken her youngest sister from Brighton to a location unknown. Moreover, Miss Bennet expressed her expectation that I would have little difficulty imagining such a thing possible, or even likely, for the perpetrator. I must confess that I failed her on this point, though I did not admit as much aloud; fortunately, no affirmation from me was required nor expected. As Miss Bennet continued to berate herself for failing to foresee this outcome, another curious feeling took hold of me. It concerned that little plan Jeeves and I had formed the preceding day. Though I was entirely unaware of how this situation had arisen, the circumstances were too coincidental for my comfort. This sensation grew until I could scarcely look Miss Bennet in the face. Perhaps the time of the dinner party was not such a pressing matter after all.

The dinner party! I suddenly recollected it, and resolved to make it the excuse for my retreat rather than advance. As Jeeves’ niece returned bringing assurances of the Gardiners’ impending arrival at the inn, I departed promising to make their excuses to Georgiana.

My mind was full of all I had learned as I walked back to Pemberley. It was all too much to form any sense out of. There was only one person I could count on to do so. As soon as I arrived, I rang for him.

“Ah, Jeeves,” I addressed him as he shimmered through the door, “I have heard some alarming news which I think you ought to hear as well.”

He inclined a concerned eyebrow. “While I should be most glad to, sir, I fear that you might have received more in your absence. This arrived by messenger not half an hour ago.” So saying, he offered me a letter from the tray he had come bearing. I accepted it unwillingly. I was beginning to loathe the very sight of letters by this point.

The contents did little to adjust my views for the better. “Jeeves,” I announced, “This just confirmed what I feared.” I sighed. There was nothing for it any longer. “This tears it. Jeeves, pack some bags. We are leaving for London.”

Several hours later, we arrived at some imposing boarding houses within the confines of the capitol. A firm rap on the door brought out the face I was expecting but rather hoping not to find after all.

“Porgie Wickham,” I enunciated slowly, with a distinct lack of any relish. “Just the man I was looking for.”

  


 


	9. Chapter 9

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Fizzer Darcy,” sneered Wickham in return. “Took you long enough to show your sorry face.”

“Speaking of faces, I’d like for you to immediately remove your abominable one from before mine and allow us entrance, if you’d be so kind. And to cease and desist all attempts to address me as Fizzer in future,” I retorted.

The louse snorted as he complied. “Well, I like that! In return, I’d respectfully request that you put a lid on all those ‘Porgies’. Imagine if you had called me that on the street in Hertfordshire! This handsome devil has seen the last of those Porgie maid-inflicted cheek-pinching days; the ladies positively swoon over the noble vis. now,” Wickham preened, stroking the aforementioned article. “Besides, it’s much too informal a handle for a guest greeting his host.”

“In that case, may I send that ‘I like that’ back to you, with compliments. These are _my_ London apartments, as you well know,” I shot back.

“Of course I do,” the cheeky blighter answered suavely, distinctly lacking the least hint of repentance. “Your cellar is woefully understocked, by the by. You might want to look into that.”

“Thanks awfully, old thing,” I said, vigourously scraping the boots on the aptly named instrument. “It is a poor showing that I shall remedy, before I authorize these apartments to be occupied. If you have no more pleasantries to offer,” I added as I stepped in, “I would like to hear posthaste what reason you have to trespass in them.”

I was interrupted from doing so by a polite cough from behind me.

“Yes, Jeeves?” I inquired, facing about.

“If you would pardon my saying so, sir, I would merely like to suggest that further conversation might perhaps be postponed until after you pay your respects to the young lady,” the perceptive personage replied, indicating a round-eyed individual just behind Wickham.

I craned my neck and bent it politely at her. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I did not see you there.” This was accompanied by a glare at the rascal responsible for said oversight.

She merely nodded silently and round-eyedly.

Wickham, ignoring my pointed look, swung round unconcernedly. “My word! I entirely forgot you were there, Lydia. Perhaps you ought to head upstairs. It seems Darcy and I have some business to discuss.”

She obeyed without a word, glancing back once or twice with wide eyes.

The three of us remaining made our way towards the chairs in the sitting room. “Well then, Darcy, and Jeeves of course,” Wickham said with a glance at the mentioned fellow, “I am rather surprised at your surprise. Didn’t you get my letter this afternoon?”

“By which I understand you to refer to this,” I replied grimly, reaching into the pocket and unfurling said missive with a single sweep of the wrist. I recited the contents from memory with an air of ill-concealed disapprobation. “’Fizzer – obtained goods and holing up with in usual metrop. location. Awaiting further instructions. W.’” I ended my rendition with a frown. “I was unsure of the meaning of every other word in the blasted thing. I half-expected to find you with a cadre of policemen’s helmets in the back room of the Don. What is this all about, anyway?”

Wickham looked at me, mystified. “Naturally, that letter is a response to this one.” It was now his turn to fish a message from the recesses of his own pocket. He handed it over, but I was already familiar enough with the message it bore: ‘You cad, a word of warning regarding impending situation concerning a certain Miss B. in the vicinity. May need assistance with a subsequent ‘rescue’ in near future. More soon, D.’

I raised an eyebrow, nonplussed. “And?” I prompted.

Jeeves looked askance at me. “If I may inquire, sir, but is that the letter you instructed me to have delivered yesterday by messenger with all haste to a certain address in Brighton?”

I redirected the elevated brow towards him. “It is, Jeeves. What of it?”

Jeeves pursed his lips. “I think I am beginning to comprehend the situation, sir.”

Wickham nodded eagerly. “Exactly. Of course, the obvious meaning was that I should remove Miss Lydia Bennet, the only ‘Miss B.’ of our mutual acquaintance in Brighton, from said vicinity and any danger you sent warning it would present. Just as obviously, the best place I have found to shake off danger, such as vengeful creditors - and even more vengeful de-helmeted policemen - is London. I thought the best out-of-the-way location to regroup and form plans was your apartments. I knew you wouldn’t mind, old thing. I am rather short on funds at the moment.”

I was astounded. “Obviously? _Obviously_ , you say, you scoundrel? Porgie, you’ve muffed everything! What happened to the ‘subsequent’, eh?” I jabbed an accusing finger at the convicting evidence. “Hardly the synonym of ‘preemptive, officious and moreover entirely unwanted’.”

“It says ‘subsequent’?” Wickham squinted at the missive. “I was sure it was ‘succinct’. Jeeves, what do you make of it?” He thrust the article before the named individual’s face.

“From this angle, it appears to me to read ‘sequined’,” said Jeeves.

I gave up that cause as lost. “The quotation marks about ‘rescue’, then?”

Wickham drew the letter to within an inch of his nose. “Those aren’t ink splotches?”

“But at least you comprehended the ‘in the future’ and ‘more soon’,” I demanded, at wits’ end.

“Well, the letter came yesterday, and obviously, this is the ‘more soon.’ I didn’t think we had much time to rescue her,” Wickham stated uncertainly.

“Rescue who from what, you dog? We hadn’t even planned the ‘situation’ yet!” I exploded.

“Actually sir, I took the liberty of laying a few plans. I might mention it is rather fortunate that they are no longer required, however. It appears that it is immensely tedious removing creosote from formal wear, and that the hiring of flamenco dancers within the British isles is prohibitively draining on the household budget,” Jeeves corrected.

The look of utter bewilderment on my face was only slightly surpassed by the one on Wickham’s. He took in a few gulps of air before endeavoring to speak. “May I ask the two of you what the devil is going on?”

I tsked at him. “If I had wanted to spell it out, I would have done so in my letter. Very well, since you cannot follow simple directions, I suppose I must tell you. Miss Lydia Bennet is in no danger. We were merely fabricating a ruse for her elder sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Wickham tilted his face confusedly. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet? I have had the pleasure of conversing with her many times. Charming girl. But what has she got to do with anything?”

I hemmed and hawed, unwilling to divulge my innermost feelings. Apparently, Jeeves had not such compunctions. “Mr Darcy is desirous to win the hand of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but she has refused him. In order to change her mind, it was decided that she may soften her consideration of him if she learned that he rescued her and hers from peril, or the appearance thereof. Mr Darcy determined to request your assistance in the scheme, without my prior knowledge,” he finished, with an almost accusing look thrown in for good measure.

“I am capable to contributing to plans without consulting you on every little thing,” I muttered, sullen.

“Corkers,” breathed Wickham, letting the news sink in. “I had no idea – of any of this! Only you two – no, better make that three, including Miss Bennet – would be capable of this. But see here,” he cried indignantly, “how could I have understood all that from that scrap you sent?”

“I found you from what you wrote in yours,” I shot back, desperate for any shred of dignity left to me.

“And anyway,” he continued with some heat right over my riposte, “you know it would never work. Miss Bennet would never change her answer over something like that. Who do you think you are, some kind of hero from a romance novel?”

“We could always try again if it is a dud the first time ‘round,” I argued. “After all, she has four sisters. Rinse and repeat, as they say. Jeeves says it does wonders with my collars.”

“What am I supposed to tell my regiment? Or Lydia?” Wickham groaned, burying his head in his hands.

“I’ll see what I can do regarding your regiment,” I told him, stirred by the faintest pangs of pity.

“Regarding the young lady, may I inquire as to what you offered her as explanation when absconding from General Forster’s residence?” Jeeves asked curiously.

Wickham raised his head thoughtfully. “You know, I can’t remember. Now that I recall, I don’t think I gave her a reason at all.”

I thought Wickham’s phrase about summed it up. “Oh corkers,” I croaked.


	10. Chapter 10

“So there you have it,” I concluded.

Mr and Mrs Gardiner observed me dubiously, their expressions a near match of those plastered on that odious Wickham and Miss Lydia Bennet. The last mentioned had been deposited at the first’s Grace Church Street residence immediately following the previously recounted tete-a-tete, with word of her safety and location sent to Longbourn posthaste. In the meantime, the Gardiners, with some discrete assistance courtesy of yours truly, had made record time back to London to join her, and having settled in, were now receiving our motley party.

Several seconds’ span of silence reigned over the sitting room where we were gathered..

Mr Gardiner broke the quiet hesitantly. “If I may,” he said slowly, “allow me to recapitulate the events you have just related.”

“Certainly,” I replied magnanimously.

“Mr Wickham, acting in good faith, stole Lydia away to London for her protection. He believed secrecy to be essential in averting an unknown danger, this being the reason he neglected to inform either her family or her interim guardians the Forsters.”

“All very true,” Wickham assented with a nod. Miss Lydia Bennet said nothing.

Mr Gardiner transferred his penetrating gaze to me. I tried to disguise my premonitious gulp and bear it. “Mr Wickham was acting as a direct result of information from Mr Darcy, who had learnt of an impending plot centered on my niece. He discovered that Lydia was in truth in no such peril, but was unable to convey the intelligence to Mr Wickham until this past evening.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” I gasped with some difficulty.

Mr Gardiner increased his scrutiny. “I might ask how exactly, and why, you obtained such knowledge in the first place.”

I opened and closed my mouth for a bit, but no glib answer was forthcoming. I was instead rescued once again by Jeeves’ quick thinking. “If I may make so bold, sir, I would ask that you would be so kind as to still your inquiries in that direction. I hope it will suffice if I suggest that it would be safest for all parties concerned. I can assure you that Mr Darcy acted with the most chivalrous of intentions.”

“Very well, Jeeves, I will let that point pass,” Mr Gardiner assented. “In all honesty,” he continued with a sigh, “we are so relieved to see our niece here safe from harm, that I really have no heart to press the matter further. The hour grows late, and perhaps it would be best for all to retire. Come, Lydia,” he said rising and extending his hand. “You will need rest before your return to Longbourn tomorrow.”

All in the room were greatly shocked by what occurred next. “No,” she said.

“Eh?” her uncle asked, startled.

“I mean, no, I will not be traveling to Longbourn tomorrow. I will not return until I am Mrs Lydia Wickham.”

The effect this pronouncement engendered was astounding. Mr Gardiner looked apoplectic. Wickham could have fit an entire orange within the confines of his slippery mouth with ease. I am unsure how I appeared, but was most likely performing my best impression of a shot owl. Jeeves, I recall clearly, raised both eyebrows.

One other person in the room was significantly less affected. “There is something in what Lydia says,” Mrs Gardiner remarked calmly, as if discussing the weather.

“There is, my dear?” Mr Gardiner replied, as if the weather discussed were floods lapping at the feet of our chairs.

“There is?” gaped Wickham, as if the weather consisted of lightning aimed straight for his breeches.

“Before discussing that, I would like to clarify one or two small things,” Mrs Gardiner demanded sternly.

“But of course, madam,” I answered, cringing interiorly.

“My first question is addressed to Lydia. When departing with Mr Wickham, what exactly did you believe his plans to be?”

“To elope,” she answered bluntly.

“ _What_?” Wickham fairly shouted, with enough emotion to make me question whether Mr Gardiner’s apoplexy was catching.

“As I thought. And now,” Mrs Gardiner said crisply, “my next query is for both of you gentlemen. Would you care to explain exactly the nature of your relationship, and why my niece believes it to be one of irreconcilable animousity? She did not reveal all the particulars, you understand,” she finished expectantly.

“I don’t remember telling you about any of that old history, Lydia,” Wickham said, admirably calmed, as he glanced at said girl in confusion. She stared right back at him, just as mystified.

“Ah, you must be referring to your niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” I elucidated faintly, realization dawning.

“Indeed I am,” she answered tersely, hands folded like a judge presiding at the bench.

I emitted the convicted’s nervous laugh. “It’s rather a long and boring story,” I hedged.

Jeeves removed sheets of paper from his person. “If it would be of assistance, I have here a faithful copy of the letter containing the intimation to which you are referring.”

“Jeeves!” I breathed, aghast.

“With your permission, of course, sir,” he demurred.

I hesitated only briefly. “Oh very well, I suppose it will save time.”

Mr and Mrs Gardiner perused the letter. “I think I begin to see,” Mrs Gardiner finally spoke. “There are two matters which require some clarification. First, could you elaborate on this secret engagement with Miss Darcy?”

Wickham scowled at me. “Oh Darcy, you put that in there? No doubt you neglected to mention that Georgie chased _me_ to Ramsgate, by following my luggage?”

“I may have forgotten to mention that,” I admitted.

“Or that she was the one who insisted on our eloping, and wouldn’t stop crying until I said yes, and that I kept on pushing it off until you arrived?”

“That fact was certainly not included,” Mrs Gardiner affirmed, scanning the pages.

“Very likely,” I agreed, slyly nudging my chair further away from the seething Wickham.

“But what is this about Mr Wickham being after Miss Darcy’s fortune?” asked Mrs Gardiner, scrutinizing a particular passage.

Wickham threw up his hands in exasperation. “Darcy, for the last time, I only asked her for a loan of five pounds to cover a… small fee that was imposed upon me.”

“I seem to recall that now,” I admitted, regarding him warily.

“Then I am nearly satisfied. One other small thing. Mr Darcy, what exactly did you mean that Mr Wickham _**ought not to be a clergyman**_?”

“Here, can I see that?” Wickham asked impatiently.

“Why ever not? Perhaps I should just have it published,” I sighed, resigning myself to my fate.

After a few sentences, Wickham nearly snarled at me. “Fizzer, do you ever think of what you write? No wonder Miss Elizabeth behaved so coldly towards me! What evil deeds she must think me capable of,” he moaned.

Miss Lydia Bennet snickered. “ ’Fizzer?’ ” she quoted, mouth twitching.

I frowned petulantly. “I _do_ think. I remembered not to write the reason why. You know,” I leant forward conspiratorially and whispered, “that you steal helmets from police-“

“Fizzer!” yelped Wickham.

I held my tongue with the usual patented Darcy forbearance. It was a long established trait of Wickham’s, well known within our childhood circle, that the aforementioned article held an unrivaled and irresistible thrall over him. So much so, that I honestly felt surprise encountering him without one hidden somewhere in his possession. As a matter of fact, had Miss Lydia been substituted with a constable’s helmet for the entirety of the debacle, I would have felt much more in my depth.

Mrs Gardiner held a hand before her face, shoulders trembling. “Very well, let us move on. Now, Mr Wickham and Lydia,” she asked, face suddenly stern, “where were the two of you for the duration of the night before last?”

“In the carriage,” Miss Lydia replied promptly.

“On the carriage,” Wickham asserted. “I was, anyway. I thought Lydia ought to stay inside, out of sight of any malingerers, if you follow me.”

“Is there anyone else who can verify this?” Mrs Gardiner pressed.

“The hired driver could,” Wickham answered falteringly, clearly unable to discern the reason for the question.

I could. I groaned.

“Could you produce him to satisfy others’ future inquiries?” Mrs Gardiner insisted.

“No he can’t. Wickham, you utter fathead,” I concluded for him.

“Well, I like that,” Wickham began.

“Of course you do, you bounder. What Mrs Gardiner is leading to is that this whole mess is going to spread rumours.”

“Rumours? Oh!” Wickham’s ears went pink as he finally caught up to the rest of us. “Couldn’t we just explain it was an attempt to rescue Lydia?”

“We could try,” Mrs Gardiner said sympathetically. “I do not have much hope in our prospects, however. Mr Wickham, I have one last question for you.” She regarded him solemnly. “Mr Wickham, do you love my niece?”

“Lydia?” he asked, agog.

Mrs Gardiner rubbed at her tense forehead with her last vestiges of constraint. “I was not suggesting Lizzie, if that is what you are implying.”

“Er, no, not at all. Charming girl for conversation, but…” he trailed off, thinking deeply. “Regarding Lydia, I have thought for some time actually… I should like very much, one day, to request the honour of her hand in marriage.”

“You should?” I was understandably flummoxed. Naturally, if young ladies had adopted a new fashion of adorning their heads with policemen’s helmets as a replacement for last season’s red regimental capes, I would have readily comprehended Miss Lydia Bennet’s attractiveness to Wickham’s tastes. Though no expert on young ladies’ dress, I hardly assumed such to be the case. Therefore, unless the enforcers of the law had taken to recruiting gentlemen’s daughters at the tender young age of fifteen without my knowledge, I was entirely baffled.

“Yes, I should,” Wickham scoffed. With a scathing glance in my direction, he muttered sotto voce, so that I cannot still be sure of it, “You’re not the only fellow who can discover a capability for finer feelings when he leasts expects it, you know.” He turned and stared soppily at the referenced recipient of said ‘finer feelings,’ unless, of course, it was ‘diner peelings’; she returned his glance with a blazingly bright countenance. Still locked in each other’s gaze, he reiterated loudly and firmly, “I would be honoured to marry Lydia.”

“I think that would be best,” Mrs Gardiner said mildly. “We can say that the two of you were in a secret engagement, and upon Mr Wickham receiving news of a sudden change of fortune, you, being young, impulsive and in love, whisked yourselves away to London to be married without delay. Lydia, naturally, remained with us for the duration of your stay preceding the nuptials. No one not intimately connected with the situation need know the particulars. It may lend your reputations the taint of eccentricity, but such a thing is unavoidable, and at least not fatal.” She smiled. “Then, it is settled.”

“I’m afraid it may be far from settled,” Wickham interjected. “As I said, I’d be honoured to marry her, but my current finances are not… oh.” He paused, remembering. “Actually, they are to all intents and purposes nonexistent now. Oh, my new commission!” he mourned, nearly weeping.

Jeeves interjected. “Mr Darcy would be glad to be of assistance to you in that matter, sir and madam.”

All the events of the day had left me in a bemused state, so I was able to now regard him almost serenely. “I would, Jeeves?” I asked, leaving the “Would you care to explain yourself as to why I should give two figs for the Wickham’s welfare?” unsaid.

“Forgive me if I am overstepping my bounds, but I am aware that you would not wish to see any of the young Miss Bennets unhappy, if it is within your power to be of benefit to them,” Jeeves prompted.

I started. Trust Jeeves to find a way to success through this catastrophe. “Why yes, that is so. It would be my pleasure to help along the proceedings.”

“I appreciate your offer, Mr Darcy, but as it is my niece, I should think – “ Mr Gardiner began.

“It your niece’s happiness that I placed in jeopardy by my faulty information,” I countered. “My honour demands that I make such amends as I can.”

Little further protest was offered, beyond arranging times and a modest dowry and so forth. Finally time for us to depart arrived, and Wickham, Jeeves and I wound our way back to my apartments.

After a well-deserved stiff drink or two, we made ready to turn ourselves in. On his way to his rooms, Wickham clapped me on the back. “Well, all’s well that ends well. With any luck, I’ll soon have a Darcy for a brother-in-law!”

I choked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for continuing to read this, and for being absolutely amazing! You've made this story so far such a fun experience for me, I'm so grateful!  
> *Lingers awkwardly in doorway*  
> Q: Why did Georgiana have a crush on Wickham?  
> A: Because of the ship name (Georgie/Porgie)  
> *Slides out of sight slowly*


	11. Chapter 11

The next fortnight proceeded astonishingly well, as if fate had finally tired of throwing her entire hand against me at every game. The wedding between the two young robbers of my peaceful slumber was scheduled for the nearest date as was conceivably possible, which was apparently at least ten days after what the men estimated it to be. Though the fairer party of the planned union lamented the simplicity of the affair regularly like the cuckoo in the clockwork, the mounting fastidiousness and frills surrounding the happy event soon sent the wind up the significantly less fair party. Nevertheless, standing before the aisle as the bells pealed the silver off their tongues, Wickham betrayed no more likelihood of an ignominious retreat than the average chap faced with the sudden realization that they were leaving the independent state and entering into a new, more constrictive one from which only one death or another could set them free. That didn’t prevent me from heaving a large sigh of relief when all the “I do’s” were said and done.

Soon enough, the two-now-one were to set off to their new northern regiment, bearing a commission obtained through the modest influence of yours truly, and I began to breathe easy. The news of a sudden added detour to Longbourn somewhat restricted this. At the advice of Jeeves, obtaining a promise of secrecy regarding my personal involvement from Mr and Mrs Wickham alleviated some of my anxiety. The whole fiasco set at rest, I was now free to return to home and hearth.

I took the opportunity to revel in being the lord of my own castle again. Such a state was not without distinct advantages, I mused. The whole incident in London had awoken within me a new appreciation for the unattached life. There were no scoldings for keeping long hours at the club, no incessant pleas to be taken to the theater, and no confiscating of the decanter in return for one too many “Yes, dears”. To be honest, I had no idea if such actions were to be expected of every female entering the married state. I had little interaction with ladies either before or after that trying period, except Georgiana, whose few and reasonable requests I was now constantly rejoicing over. Yes, I was certain that I would be perfectly content to persist in the status quo for a little longer before advancing in my objective regarding Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Such was my state of mind when I encountered Jeeves in my personal rooms, setting the finishing touches to some folded coats in my freshly packed luggage.

“Jeeves,” I asked him promptly, “Why do I see freshly packed luggage before me?”

“They are in preparation for your stay at Netherfield, sir,” he replied, tweaking a lapel or some such to lie flat. I am not certain of the exact term of the article requiring tweaking. Jeeves most likely knew it, but I had another question I wished to pose first.

“What stay at Netherfield, Jeeves?” I posed it.

Jeeves paused in his tweaking. “You have just received an invitation from Mr Bingley, who is resting in the sitting room, sir. He arrived while you were out on the grounds, announcing that he was ‘bored out of his wits,’ as he put it. I took the liberty of suggesting that the fowl hunting in Hertfordshire was purported to be worthwhile at this time of year, and that you would be happy to be a member of his party. He plans to leave this afternoon.”

I stared at him. “But, dash it, Jeeves, you know very well that I am an absolute failure at hunting. I couldn’t shoot a window from five yards of Rosings Park if I tried.”

Jeeves frowned in sympathy. “I am well aware sir, but there is a more pressing target than fowls to pursue in the vicinity of Netherfield.”

“If you’re referring to the foxes, Jeeves, I’m pretty useless when it comes to them too,” I admitted, sighing.

Jeeves coughed. “No, sir. I was actually referring the procurement of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s affections.”

“Ah,” I said, seating myself and folding my hands contemplatively. “About that, Jeeves. I’ve been thinking that it might be better to take a little time on that matter. Looking and leaping, and all that. Frankly, Jeeves, I’m exhausted. In my opinion, a month or two couldn’t hurt.”

“I am afraid I shall have to disagree with you, sir.”

“Is that right? Can you not see the circles beneath my eyes from lack of sleep and an excess of worry?” I persisted, learning forward and pointing at the dark bags.

“I meant regarding the delay in your quest, sir. While it is natural for you to feel a reticence to rush into an engagement, I have been informed that young ladies do not share this frame of mind.”

“Do they not, Jeeves?” I asked, understandably puzzled.

“I fear not, sir. Indeed, I think it highly advisable to proceed with all haste in the next step in the plan.”

“You refer to the last phase, the unrefusable proposal?”

Jeeves regarded me gravely. “No, sir. There is an intermediary step which I believe is crucial to your success. While the first stage was surmounted with the unwitting assistance of the youngest former Miss Bennet, the second concerns the eldest.”

“The eldest, you say? Isn’t that the one that Bingley… oh, no. You surely don’t mean that I have to part the waters and mend the breach between the two lovebirds, do you, Jeeves?” I groaned.

“I am afraid so, sir.”

“How am I to do that?” I questioned hollowly.

“Fortunately for your circumstances, sir, Mr Bingley is very easily persuaded to pursue any course of action, even more so one to which he is already attuned. I believe merely assuring him that his feelings towards Miss Bennet are reciprocated would ensure a happy result.”

“You realize, Jeeves, that this would mean I would have to explain the small matter that I had insisted on her indifference up until the present time. And he will undoubtedly ask why,” I pointed out.

Jeeves did his best to look concerned. It wasn’t all that convincing. “Unless a meeting between them presents some other method, it would seem so, sir.”

I nodded, my suspicions verified. “Just as I thought. Well, Jeeves,” I said, picking up a glass handily nearby and raising it in a toast, “here’s to the hunters, and to the hope that this one will not become the hunted.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Events on the Bingley front proceeded fairly according to expectations. I will not bore you with the details, neither regarding the hunting (I was as abysmal at it as I had remembered) nor with the persuading. Suffice it to say, once presented with the facts surrounding Miss Jane Bennet and her regard for him during his stay in London, he was convinced; the only difficulty was in explaining why they had been withheld from him previously. I took the honorable route and gave him the truth, steeling myself for the repercussions. It was here that the conversation took a turn for the bizarre.

“I understand the situation completely, old thing. It is perfectly obvious that the mastermind behind my months of misery was never you,” Bingley declared magnanimously.

“Yes, obviously,” I agreed heartily and dishonestly.

“I see now. Caroline put you to it.”

“Yes, of course it was…” Wait. Who was Caroline? One of Bingley’s old flames? He knew absolute heaps of girls, I could never retain their names in the old register. One of them might have been called Caroline. As a matter of fact, I could recall him mentioning a Caroline rather recently. That’s right, it was when he was referring to - “Miss Bingley,” I finished.

“Naturally. She was acting out of her desire to protect my feelings from mistaken danger, and you could not help but bend to her will.”

“I never bend to a female’s will,” I retorted on reflex. A man’s sense of pride cannot be repressed easily. This reminded me that the same could be said of his innate sense of self-preservation, particularly during assorted skirmishes with my aunt and sister. The opposition, unsurprisingly, had secured complete victory without exception. “I never bend to an _unrelated_ female’s will, anyway,” I amended.

Bingley regarded me patronizingly. “Silly Darcy. Beyond necessary civilities, you never _speak_ with unrelated females, except for Caroline.”

I raised an outstretched finger to object to this accusation, but was forced to lower it. I drew a complete blank of cases with which to contradict him. Excepting Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of course, but I hardly wished to draw his attention in that direction.

“And it’s easy to see why. You wish to make her related.”

I gaped at him. How did he know my intentions towards Miss Bennet? Did Bingley in fact own an intellect capable of discerning my carefully concealed feelings? How long did he know? How much did he know? What else did he know about me?

As these and progressively more alarming thoughts swirled through my head, the mystifying man beamed at me jovially. “And, as her brother, you will undoubtedly be relieved to know that I bear no ill will toward either of you, and in fact give you my warmest approval!”

I closed my mouth and rubbed my chin perplexedly. I was fairly certain there was no conceivable method for Bingley to be Miss Bennet’s brother. I ran through the maths in my head to verify this. Miss Bennet, in the course of her life, has acquired four sisters and zero brothers. Thus, no man could claim to be her brother. Bingley has the singular misfortune to possess not one but two sisters who were not Georgiana (the paradigm of sisters and the best a man could ask for; all other sisters pale in comparison). He also has zero brothers. Therefore, he could claim to be a brother, but not to Miss Bennet (nor, regrettably for him, to Georgiana). Who, then, could Bingley be claiming himself a brother to and professing his approval of my suit to? The math left only one candidate.

Miss (Caroline) Bingley.

I gaped even more largely at him than before. “Bingley,” I began thickly. I was too filled with warring emotions to continue.

“No need to worry, old chap! I sha’n’t mention a thing to her – not that it needs mentioning, what with your steadily warming relationship. We’ve been expecting developments for months. But that’s beside the point now! I must ride for Longbourn at once! I need my hat and gloves!”

I stood speechless, listening as he dashed towards his apartments, slammed the doors to the closets, upset what sounded like an erstwhile vase of flowers, and clattered back down the stairs and outdoors towards the stables. I finally regained enough control to sink slowly into a chair as he re-entered from the grounds and ran towards the other end of Netherfield, a cry of “I forgot - I need boots too!” echoing behind him.

I trudged back towards my own apartments, trying to piece these new developments together. My behaviour, engendering hopes of an attachment between myself and Miss Bingley? Preposterous. Surely she herself did not think so. She behaved towards me as she would towards any friend of her brother. It was impossible. But what could Bingley had meant when he said “ _We’ve_ been expecting developments”?

Somehow, I staggered through the doors to my rooms, where Jeeves was ready to attend to the casualties my faculties had suffered during the preceding conversation. “May I assume, sir, from the distinctive manner of Mr Bingley’s recent departure, that your efforts met with success?” he enquired solicitously while pouring.

“You could assume that, and more,” I groaned, taking a sip of the proffered restoring tonic. “Let it never be said that a conversation with that blasted Bingley is ever dull. Out of curiousity, Jeeves, have you ever discerned anything peculiar in Miss Bingley’s demeanor towards me in the recent past?”

“No, sir, she has been as unwavering and expectant in her infatuation with you as ever,” Jeeves responded promptly.

“I must have misheard you, Jeeves. I could have sworn you said ‘infatuation’,” I replied, blinking.

“I did employ that term, sir,” Jeeves affirmed calmly. “Perhaps you would prefer ‘warm admiration and particular regard, with intentions of a swift marriage,’ instead?”

I closed my eyes. Hope was not lost. Even Jeeves could not be perpetually free from all error. I slowly finished my drink, revisiting my memories in search of such an example.

“I hope that your spirits are somewhat restored, sir?”

I nodded. Just because no such cases of Jeeves’ fallibility yet came to mind did not mean that they would not soon.

“I am pleased to hear that, sir. In that case, I ought to inform you that Lady Catherine is waiting on you in your sitting room.”

Upon that news, words failed me. Eyes still lidded, I silently held out my now empty glass for another round.


	13. Chapter 13

I endeavor, when recording these singular events, to remain aware that not all who peruse them are endowed with the same innate knowledge of the particular characters contained within as others, such as myself. What I am trying to get at is not all of you may be familiar with that remarkable breed of the ever-inscrutable female species known commonly as the aunt. Not that I profess to be an expert in the subject, mind you. I possess only the one member. However, it has repeatedly occurred to me that their entry in that worthy tenant of any literate’s library, the dictionary, is sorely lacking. For some unexplained reason, Webster and most of his disciples focus merely on the familial connections that satisfy the prerequisite for utilizing that specific form of address. I have generally found this to be unnecessary, as this aspect and the associated deference it implies has been impressed on most nephews since the tender years of their infancy with innumerable cheek-pinchings, dressing-downs, and occasional withholdings of dessert. Moreover, the aforementioned are imposed long before said nephew has imbibed sufficient quantities of the milk of knowledge to peruse said Webster and associates. More pertinent knowledge for those so uniquely placed as to remain unaware of the habits of the aunt would, I feel, be brief descriptions of their common behaviours and recommended responses for nephews. I shall herein try to briefly remedy this unfortunate deficiency.

First, there is the Affronted Aunt. This variant has been in some way denied some object she has set her sights on, probably related in some way to your good behaviour. Some good clues that you may be observing an Affronted Aunt in her native habitat are haughty stares down the nose, and that every break in her extremely one-sided conversation will end with a question regarding whether she is not ill-used. The trick here is to exhibit signs of your acknowledgment of her unspoken demand for vengeance. This may be done by assuming an outraged posture at her perceived abysmal treatment and by answering the aforementioned queries with emphatic agreement.

Second, there is the Incensed Aunt. She is characterized by heated snorts, sharp turns at either end of her tigeresque pacing, and interspersed demands to stand up straight, look at her when speaking, and say something for oneself. She is appeased by subtle displays of demeaning oneself to her superiority, such as ashamed glances, speedy compliance with her demands, and heartfelt professions to mend your ways.

Third is the Determined Aunt. This aunt will be accompanied by a firm-set jaw and gimlet eyes, refusals of hearing any opposition, and sharp jabs of her cane employed as punctuation marks. In order to guarantee your future safety, this aunt must be convinced that you are in awe of her display of power. This aunt is the one whom I am sorry to say that I have struggled the most with. This is because in general, she presents a conflict between your present and future well-being, if her determination is directed at you. The best course of action I have discovered is offering frequent replies of “Yes, Aunt” (not neglecting to insert her given name at the tail end, of course), while secretly making plans to salvage what will be left of your future freedom from her schemes.

This outlines some of the basic survival techniques employed when encountering aunts in the wild. Now that you are filled in, you will have no trouble imagining my state of mind as I entered the sitting room to find Aunt Catherine seated with her back to me, quietly partaking of the tea things Jeeves must have previously brought in.

“What ho, Aunt Catherine,” I greeted the aged relative.

Said relative clinked tea cup to saucer sharply, turned, and stared at me down aquiline nose. How she accomplished this gesture towards a standing nephew while seated is beyond my powers of explanation, but I presume it is an ability only attainable by aunts.

“I would thank you to address me properly, nephew. I have not visited you in the most sanguine of spirits. I have just been abominably used.”

As you have no doubt worked out, I was engaging an Affronted Aunt. I now knew exactly how to proceed.

“And what scoundrel has done the abominable using, dearest Aunt? Should I have a word with him?” I even delivered the lines with a wrathful eye that I felt did me great credit.

She snorted. “There is no ‘him,” Fitzwilliam. I am speaking of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

I immediately dropped all traces of wrathfulness from the eyes and adopted more than a hint of bafflement in its place. “And how did you have the occasion to meet with her, dearest A?”

She rose and began pacing. “I have just paid her a visit. I heard some interesting news regarding her from Mr Collins, whom you will recall, is the rector of our parish and the cousin to Miss Bennet. I naturally disregarded it, as I generally do all news he brings me unless it is corroborated. But this particular piece of news was from a trustworthy source.” She here ended her pacing and turned sharply. Aunt Catherine wasted no time getting to the point. “What’s all this I hear about you marrying this Bennet girl, Fitzwilliam? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Naturalists, observe: an Affronted _and_ Incensed Aunt! I proceeded with utmost caution. Fortunately, I had no trouble producing a nervous and confused glance, which is readily mistaken for an ashamed one. “What do you mean, Aunt Catherine?”

“It’s all written right here.” She produced a letter, and once entrusting it to my hands, resumed pacing.

I observed the letter carefully. It was indeed marked as originating from Pemberley, and while the penmanship tickled the memory, I finally concluded, “This isn’t my handwriting.”

Aunt Catherine dismissed the matter with a wave of her hand. “Of course not. I would not expect to have been able to read it if it had been.” I let that comment slide. A side note – this action is basic procedure for safe interactions with aunts. “It is from your manservant, to his niece in employment with Mrs Collins.”

I crumpled the letter with an inadvertent twitch. “My manservant,” I muttered. I smoothed then scanned the missive. The intention she had indicated was plain to see, word for word – there was very little else within it, except for general respectful salutations and polite hopes for the neice’s state of health.

“So, what have you to say? If you wish to marry her, why are you not engaged to this girl?” my aunt demanded, fixing me with gimlet eyes and firm-set jaw.

I – wait.

“I beg your pardon, Aunt Catherine?” I inquired, weak-kneed.

“Stand up straight when you are speaking with me! I asked you a clear question. If you have been in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet since you both visited at Rosings Park, why have you not proposed and gained an acceptance?” She closed her interrogation with a sharp rap of her cane.

This was a bit much to take at once. I allowed myself to sink to the sofa and reached numbly for a biscuit. I realized fuzzily that I was, for the very first time, facing an Affronted, Incensed, and Determined Aunt, with no reinforcements in sight.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” There were more blows from her cane. Out of concern for Bingley’s flooring, I endeavored to form a coherent reply.

“I did ask, but she wouldn’t have me,” I mumbled pathetically around the biscuit.

“I gathered as much.” More pacing ensued. “She admitted that you were not engaged when questioned. She deflected all the obstacles I proposed to your union with remarkable spirit – admirable girl! – leading me to believe that she did indeed possess feelings for you. However, though I pressed her, she would never admit that she would have you now. After all my interference, and after even revealing the tenuous nature of your supposed engagement to my daughter Anne! The audacity! She could have at least admitted to me that she loves you. Was I not ill-used?”

Such was the turmoil of my feelings that it never occurred to me at the time to interject my agreement here. Instead, I prematurely swallowed the biscuit, unclogged the windpipe with a few brisk coughs, and repeated, “You revealed my ‘engagement’ to Cousin Anne?”

She trotted the dismissive snort back out for another lap. “Of course. Girls eat up that sort of thing.” She looked at me with a keen glance. “You know, Fitzwilliam, the time is now.”

I glanced at the clock. “Close to half-past one, I’d say,” I replied.

She sighed at me wearily. “No, you utter fool, I refer to the time for you to try again. Strong spirits rally in times of persecution. I’ve done all I can for you. She’s a good, clever, sensible sort of girl, just the sort to take you in hand. Unfortunately, those are all too rare, and she won’t be waiting for you forever. You must act now. And, speaking of the time, if you hurry, you might catch her before she leaves for her walk. They have several charming secluded spots for private conversation nearby.” She regarded me fondly, as mother eagles must be apt to do before tossing their unsuspecting young off cliff-sides. “Best of luck to you, Fitzwilliam, and Godspeed.”

“Thank you, Aunt Catherine,” I muttered thickly. I brushed off what remained of the biscuit crumbs before planting a peck on her venerable cheek and rushing out the door.

“Jeeves,” I called, “my coat, if you please.”

He materialized, if that is the word I want, at my side. “Your coat, sir, and your horse is waiting at the drive.”

“Thank you. And Jeeves – “ I paused here. Naturally, I had a few choice words I wished to impart about informing, however indirectly, innocent chaps’ aunts about said chaps’ affairs without so much as a by-your-leave. However, such things, delivered tactfully, require a great deal of thinking and even more time. And both were things of which I was currently in short supply.

“Wish me luck, Jeeves.”

“Of course, sir.”

To those words, I departed from Netherfield and towards the field of battle at Longbourn.


	14. Chapter 14

This would be the point of the story where I regale you with how I dashed on the wings of speed to some blossom-bedecked bower on the Longbourn grounds, threw myself at the feet of the woman I adore, madly confessed my boundless and irrepressible love with enough eloquence to make all the cherubs in St. Paul’s weep with envy, and was met in turn by astounded disbelief, then passionate acceptance and return of affections, and finally gratuitous snogging.

I’m afraid I must disappoint you.

That is not to say that all these interesting, agreeable and well-deserved actions did _not_ occur. But it is not the way of F. W. Darcy to, in the vulgar turn of phrase, ‘kiss-and-tell.’ On an unrelated note, I do not actually remember any of it. The next thing I clearly recall after leaping astride my black stallion and nearly giving the poor fellow a heart attack was meandering back inside Netherfield as if treading upon clouds, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. Not, I would like to add, as if I’d been ‘pole-axed by a blacksmith and doused in the strongest brandy in Hertfordshire,’ like certain cads by the initials of C. B. would claim when congratulating me afterwards. (I let the slander slide, partially from irrepressible good humour, but more so from gratitude that the happy news had driven all recollection of his insistence on a connection between his sister and myself clean out of his head).

Regardless, somehow or other, at the end of the day I found myself curled up in my nightshirt and tucked in beneath silken covers, cap on my head and eyelids fluttering dreamily, before I was again capable of mortal speech.

“I would like to take the liberty of congratulating you, sir,” said Jeeves, handing over the after-supper sustenance of old-fashioned T. and buttered toast.

“Thank you, Jeeves,” I answered dreamily.

“Are there any particular preparations you wish for me to attend to first, sir?” the entirely too practical individual inquired.

“I can’t concern myself with such mundane matters,” I waved him off. “I’m in love. It’s a serious malady. An invalid needs his rest. You’re more capable at those sorts of things, anyhow.”

My heartfelt pleas fell on deaf ears. “In that case, did Miss Bennet have any specific instructions?”

“Instructions…?” I squinched my eyes shut, concentrating hard. Now that he’d mentioned it, it did seem like my sweet darling perfect gorgeous Elizabeth had said something of the sort. Through blissful hazy memories, I swam doggedly until I seized upon the one I wanted. “She said I had to ask her father’s blessing first.”

Jeeves raised the usual eyebrow. “First, sir?”

“Yes, first. Before we get married,” I patiently elaborated.

The other eyebrow ascended to its mate’s altitude. “You haven’t already asked Mr Bennet’s blessing?”

“No, of course not.” I rose upon my elbows to send him a leveling glare. “When I would I have had the time to do that?”

“I believe it is customary, sir, to do so immediately after securing the lady’s acceptance,” Jeeves said in a disapproving tone.

“There’s no need for that disapproving tone, Jeeves,” I shot back. “I was in no condition to speak with him. I was… indisposed. With, you know. Feelings.”

“I imagine, sir, that speaking with Mr Bennet would have sobered you more thoroughly than my patented restorative.”

“Exactly so, Jeeves,” I nodded in wholehearted agreement. “That’s why I avoided it.”

“Nevertheless, sir.” Jeeves bulled forward, undeterred. “You will need to meet with Mr Bennet at his earliest convenience. I cannot imagine Miss Bennet will look kindly on you unnecessarily postponing your formal engagement.”

I could only groan and sink further beneath the covers under the relentless onslaught of his blasted logic. “Good _night_ , Jeeves.” I listened petulantly to his prim “Good night, sir,” and his dignified retreat towards the exit.   

Rather than vanishing poste-haste as per his regular, Jeeves lingered on in the doorway, rather like that sop Hamlet’s pater ‘round Elsinore castle, or like the smell from the smoked salmon Bingley’s sister serves every blasted Friday. “There is one more thing which you might consider, sir,” he intoned.

“I certainly hope it’s just one. My brain is fit to burst from the pressure here,” I complained loudly, finally reaching for my tea.

“As the Good Book says: it is a foolish man who builds his house on sand. It would be regrettable indeed to enter the state of matrimony on a foundation of lies.”

“If I am understanding you correctly, Jeeves,” I queried querrously, “You are, in fact, advising me, to, as the vernacular goes, ‘come clean’.”

He twitched the immaculate dishcover to lie at a more precise forty-five degree angle. “Just so, sir.”

“Jeeves,” I swallowed, as the powers of speech nearly failed me. “You do realize, the entirety of your years in my service has been spent in aiding and abetting me in doing - not to mince words -  the exact and utter opposite.”

“I realize this, sir.” Jeeves pinned me under his keen gaze - I’ve never been able to regard those winged specimens stuck within aspiring lepidopterologist’s ghastly cases the same way again. Poor blighters. “You must understand that once you quit the bachelor state, some changes are inevitable.”

With great difficulty, I restricted the tea ejected from my mouth to land within the saucer. “You’re not saying you’re considering _leaving_ , Jeeves!?” I spluttered, gasping. “What will become of me? Of Pemberley? Of Derbyshire?!”

“I shudder to think of it, sir,” Jeeves intoned in full solemnity. “I am relieved to inform you that I have no intentions of quitting your service.”

“Goodness, man. My heart palpitations were about to give my esteemed future mother-in-law’s a run for her money,” I muttered, replacing my teacup with a shaking hand.

“My meaning, sir,” Jeeves continued, “has to do not with my responsibilities, but your own.” He regarded me with an owlish countenance. “Certain, shall we say, flights of whimsy which have long been accepted by your family and household, may no longer be so agreeable once you undergo the institution of matrimony. And besides that, there is the woman herself to consider.”

“Every time I think I grasp your meaning, you throw in a wild pitch to obfuscate,” I griped at him. “If you’re referring to the introduction of the fairer sex, I’m not sure I follow. You’ve never made any bones about my schemes before because of Georgie. Or Aunt Catherine, for that matter.”

“But Miss Elizabeth is neither Miss Georgiana, nor her Ladyship,” Jeeves stated. I should jolly well hope not, I thought privately. “Though her name may change, please remember, sir: you are not marrying a Darcy, but a Bennet.”

A Bennet, eh? I munched thoughtfully on my impeccably buttered toast as Jeeves - finally - took his leave. From his ominous advice, I assumed that he meant that the Bennet powers of observation to be somewhat of an higher level than the Darcy-issue. I narrowed it down to this, as it was either that, or the Darcy lack of fun, or how they’d likely phrase it, a lassitude in proper decorum. I quickly eliminated that latter option, for while Jeeves in his endless knack for phrasing had termed it “acceptance,” what my family (and housekeeper, and the rest of the staff) actually maintained regarding my escapades was more of a “tolerant detente”.

But back to the matter at hand. What Jeeves was hinting at was that there was someone among the Bennet ranks that could sniff out a secret, and, therefore, before whom it would behoove me to take the initiative and lay bare the facts of the case, before they discovered me themselves and hung me by my toes from the lintels. Accordingly, I reviewed the entire list: a dry taciturn father, a fractious mother, an inhumanly angelic eldest daughter, my lovely exquisite kind and clever Elizabeth, and, Q., “ **_three very silly sisters_ ** ” un-Q.

The answer was obvious.

 


	15. Chapter 15

“And so, my good sir,” I announced late the next morning, “That is the entire truth of the matter regarding my wooing of one of your daughters, as well as the marriage of another. I humbly ask your blessing.”

Mr Bennet stared at me over his (previously full) crystal decanter as he emptied it into his glass.

“So, just to verify the facts, you mean to tell me you sent Wickham a letter, indicating, what was it again - a ‘warning regarding’...?”

“An ‘impending situation’,” I supplied helpfully. I glanced about Mr Bennet’s private office; it was a well-appointed room with high paneled walls, well-stocked bookshelves and wide bay doors, currently shut, behind which the two younger sisters had already been interrupted eavesdropping once, and Mrs Bennet twice.

“An intentionally staged situation, entirely of your fabrication,” Mr Bennet clarified.

I gulped. “Yes, sir.” It was dashed stuffy indoors - I ran my hand around my suddenly tight collar and over my heated forehead.

“All to convince Elizabeth to marry you?”

“Yes, sir,” I repeated, with far greater alacrity and conviction.

Mr Bennet sank back into his chair. “And my brother-in-law Mr Gardiner knew of this?”

“Not the fabrication part,” I clarified. “But the jist of the rest. It was the Gardiners who recommended the London marriage, actually,” I added.

My (optimistically) future father-in-law knit stormy brows together. “I’ll be having a few words with Mr Gardiner about this,” he muttered.

“It was mostly Mrs Gardiner,” I pointed out.

“Perhaps not, then,” Mr Bennet hastily corrected. He then gazed at me with a puzzled air. “Did you form this… plan entirely on your own?”

“Ah.” I interrupted tugging at my collar to cough delicately into a fist before resuming the aforementioned activities. “You will understand, sir, if I’m reticent to disclose any names that could implicate someone… materially unconnected to the situation. But rest assured, no one of my acquaintance ever intended any harm to you or any member of your family.” With, looking back on it now, the possible exception of Miss Bingley; I’ve still never completely fathomed the nature of the rather poor relationship she and my ineffable Elizabeth formed. It was inconsequential in the current conversation, anyway. Doubtless, with his vaunted powers of observation, Mr Bennet already held more clues on the subject than I did.

“I see I will have to be satisfied with that.” He sighed, gripped the oaken chair handles, and rose from his seat. “In any case, Mr Darcy, you have my blessing.”

I paused my collar-pulling and forehead-wiping. “I do?”

“You do.” Mr Bennet reached across his desk for my right hand, and proceeded it to pump it up and down firmly. “I wish you both the best.”

“You do?” I echoed, arm like a limp noodle.

“I see no reason not to. My daughter has assured me she cares for you. And from your account and conduct, it seems clear that you care for her. Is it not so?” His grip and his smile both tightened.

“Absolutely and completely,” I gasped, regaining the use of my inborn faculties. “You suspected it sooner than most, I imagine,” I led, hoping for a glimpse of the Jeeves-alluded observational prowess.

Mr Bennet ignored the bait. “I’ve never held great expectations of you, Mr Darcy.” - Just as a connoisseur of human character should think, I interjected privately - “So if there’s any lesson to be learned from this most illuminating recount, it’s that in order to get to this point, you must be blessed either by astoundingly improbable luck, or indulgent and extremely capable connections. Either of which, I would be a fool to reject out of misappropriated spite.” Mr Bennet patted my hand meaningfully as he held it clasped in both of his. “Welcome to the family, Mr Darcy.”


	16. Chapter 16

And thus, my beautiful adorable indescribable Elizabeth and I were married.

It was a double wedding, with that lucky bounder Bingley and his bride the (then-Miss) Jane Bennet joining us at the altar. This was a wise decision economically but perhaps not for morale, as with double the brides per the number of weddings, it left Bingley and I with double the free time to meditate on what exactly we had both landed ourselves into. We needn’t have worried; if anything, marriage has only made Bingley even more of a besotted, doting, and devoted mooncalf than he was to start with. And from what little I am able to discern of such matters, Mrs Jane Bingley seems as enigmatically equanimous as always. My Elizabeth tells me that’s her sister’s happy demeanor, so I assume her current situation agrees with her.

As for Elizabeth and I - well, all I can say, is that reports of ‘wedded bliss’ have not been exaggerated, and it has earned my heartiest recommendation. If any two individuals in England claim to lead a happier existence than ourselves, I defy them to present their allegations at a court of law to be summarily ripped to shreds. Witness Georgiana has professed to be “quite enraptured” with the change a new sister has wrought, and Jeeves himself described my countenance to be, in his expert opinion, “positively radiant” after our union. I think no more needs to be said on the verdict.

If there is one regret that I have in this whole affair - and it is a miniscule, infinitesimal thing - it is the guilt. You see, Elizabeth still does not know. I’ve thought about confessing the entire thing to her, many times. I am not afraid of her hating me - as you, following along my adventures, can testify, my intentions have been perpetually clean and spotless as the driven snow. But for all that, my wife (‘wife’; now that has such a nice ring to it!) though all that is pure and lovely, good and noble, stalwart and true - in so many words, perfection herself - she cannot deny her nature. And that nature is elementally, at its core, a woman who delights to tease. I can only imagine the ridicule she would heap upon me. And perhaps, some arguably deserved censure. I can picture it now - her facing me, tapping one foot, arms crossed, with an incredulous look upon her face. One eyebrow raised, a la Jeeves, as if asking me exactly how long I thought I could keep this very embarrassing secret from her keen intelligence. She’d belittle me with a knowing look or cutting witticism every time after, anytime I sent a letter, or stopped at London, or heard news of Lydia and Wickham, or met with the Gardiners, or even passed the Pemberley duck pond. It would be pure torture.

Fortunately for me, it is most unlikely that she would ever happen upon it. I have instructed all parties to keep mum on my involvement. The Gardiners would prefer it so for their own sakes anyway, and Jeeves, the only conspirator in frequent proximity, is the soul of discretion. So, I think I may continue to rest safely in my current happy arrangement.

-

Reader, no sooner than I completed inking the previous line, did I feel a sudden chill come over me. I observed a shadow cast across my desk from behind me, and saw the hairs on my arms rise on end in foreboding. I slowly turned, keeping my gaze downcast, until arrested by familiar slippers tapping ominously. My eyes were drawn upward to a pair of slender arms forbiddingly crossed, and further, to a pert mouth drawn down in disdain and an elegant brow quirked sardonically, nodding towards certain pages strewn haphazardly across my writing desk....

Dear friends, if you need me, I’ll be hiding in the shrubbery.

(End)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! And again for the kudos, and all the lovely comments - you've made sharing this story such a fun experience for me, I don't know how to thank you enough. It's just amazing that you've taken time out of your day to find and try out this story among so many, and even leave feedback that I've enjoyed reading so much - you are all awesome, and I'm so grateful! I hope you had nearly as much fun as you've shared with me!
> 
> P.S.: Some statistics for your amusement:  
> Times the Pemberley duck pond was discussed: 9  
> Times Darcy mentioned Jeeves’ eyebrows: 7  
> Times Darcy mentioned other people’s eyebrows: 6  
> Times Caroline Bingley looked ‘soulful’: 4  
> Times Jeeves ‘shimmered’: 3  
> Times someone resembled an owl: 2  
> Elizabeth’s lines of dialogue: 0


End file.
